The 78th Annual Hunger Games
by thgbymaci
Summary: Let the 78th annual Hunger Games begin! Follow along with several tributes as they make their journeys through one of the most unique arenas yet. Root for your favorite, cry when they get killed. Who will come out victorious?
1. Ashen Haysmith

**Ashen Haysmith's POV**

"Get up." A stern voice said, awakening me. I ignored it at first, figuring it was a part of the horrible dream I had been having all night.

"I mean it, Ashen. Up. Now." I shot up the second time, rubbing my eyes slightly as they began to flutter open. Once they adjusted, I realized that it was my mother standing at the end of my bed. She had just ripped the warm cotton blanket that had been laying on top of me off of my body, and it was now laying on the ground.

Her stained red lips spread wide across her face, showing her artificial pearly white teeth, and her crazy, neurotic eyes lit up. She looked giddy and excited, like a small child receiving a present.

"Time to get up, my dear. You have a big day ahead of you," She said, suddenly pacing around my room, ripping clothes out of drawers.

I slid my pale legs off of my bed, placing my face into the palm of my hands, my elbows rested on my thighs. My stomach began to drop as I came to the realization that today, I could be shipped off to the Capitol and placed in the arena. This may be the last time ever waking up in this bed with the warm sun to greet me in the mornings. And my usual nightmares may soon become a reality.

I stood up, smoothing out my nightgown and crossing my arms over my chest, watching my mother continue to frantically dig through my room. I guessed she was trying to find something for me to wear to the reaping. Everyone wore their best attire on Reaping Day.

On Reaping Day, it was tradition for District One citizens to get extra Capitol-ish for the day. They dyed their hair, stained their lips, put on fake eyelashes, and other strange things. Some even went to the extremes of reconstructing their face. My mother, for example, had had her nice auburn hair changed to a solid blue color, dyed her lips a shiny cherry red, and glued 6 inch fake nails to her fingers. But much about her had not changed. Her eyebrows were still plucked to a pulp, and the crazy, insane look remained in her eyes.

The oddest thing about my mother? She wanted nothing more than for me to be sent to the Capitol and forced to fight to the death. While most mothers worried about never seeing their children again on this day, mine worried that my name wouldn't be picked. I never knew why she was this way. Maybe it was because she took pride in it. Maybe she wanted to be able to get sympathy from the other District One residents. Maybe she needed the victory money. Or maybe she just hated me. Whatever it had been, with the fact that she was a divorced woman, me being her only daughter, it was all very weird. She would be alone if I died. Which made it even more peculiar to me.

My mother let out a small moan, biting down on her bottom red lip, looking at me. Her eyes were suddenly filled with panic and concern. She let out a quick, sharp breath.

"Oh Ashen, this is horrible," She said, suddenly pacing back and forth. "I can't find anything for you to wear today."

I gave a small shrug, walking over to my dresser and pulling out a baby blue short sleeve dress I wore to the previous reaping. I remembered I had worn it with white dress shoes, which I began to look around for a little.

My mother examined the dress carefully, her fake nose scrunching up ever so slightly. Her head shook quickly, a look of disgust on her face. "No dear, no. No." She worked her way over to wear I was standing before ripping the dress out of my hands, scrunching it into a little ball. "Ash, you wore this last year love."

I shrugged, rolling my eyes a little. "Okay then," I said, turning my back to her, heading over to my closet to look. I swung the closet door open, beginning to slide all of my clothes across the rack. Suddenly, a cold smooth hand touched my shoulder. My mother had a tiny smile on her face.

"I'll go buy you a new dress. Right now." She said beaming. I quickly shook my head a little.

"Mother, that's not necessary." I say with a slight frown. What did it matter what I looked like? If I did get picked, would it really matter what I wore as I approached my own death?

My mother placed a flat, smooth palm up towards my face, motioning for me to stop talking. "Yes. It is. I'll be back." She said, heading for the door. Before I could even say anything, she was gone, slamming my door behind her, leaving me alone.

I let out a loud sigh, walking over to my full-body mirror. I looked long and hard at the image being projected back at me. I stared into my own dark blue eyes, biting softly on my lower lip. This person, looking back at me, may be dead in a week or so. This pale skinned blonde girl, may be be sent to her death today. This person was me.

I got dressed in black leather jeans and a white one-shoulder top, a typical District One outfit for a girl. I threw my hair up in a messy ponytail before exiting my room and heading downstairs.

I had a pretty decent home. It was a little large. Two stories. Modern furniture and architecture. It was comfortable enough. But it was empty most of the time.

My mother worked as the head of a luxury jewelry company, and was rarely ever home. And between school and Career training, I wasn't there much either. But most of the time, when I was, it was just me. And I was okay with it, kinda. My mother was slightly insane, so it was nice to just live a normal life without her there at times, but everybody wants to spend time with their mother. And I didn't have that.

I flopped down our white leather couch for a good three seconds before there was a ring at the door. I let out a little groan, slowly standing before heading to the front of the house.

When the door opened, anger rose inside of me. Standing in front of me was none other than Martial Lockhearst, my ex-boyfriend, who somehow always made his way into my home.

Martial smiled at me when I made eye contact with him. "Hey babe," he said, stepping around me, and into the house, making himself at home. I rolled my eyes.

Martial Lockhearst was the "it boy" in my town, Cider. He was attractive, charming, cocky, and rude. Basically every teenage girl's dream. Martial had sandy blonde hair, much like mine, ice blue eyes, golden tan skin, and perfect teeth. And the crazy part was, he had no alterations done to him. No plastic surgery or anything fake about him, like my mother. He was born perfect, which made me hate him even more.

Every girl in Cider and most of District One was crazy for Martial. He was godly and perfect. It's like he wasn't a real person. But he was one of the worst people you would ever meet. He was a heart breaker. He would put his charm on you and make you fall in love, then make you feel like nothing the next day. It's exactly what he had done to me. And yet, he still remained in my life. I could not get rid of him because my mother loved him. She had told me I would marry Martial. She wanted me to. Because Martial Lockhearst was perfect, and that's what my mother wanted me to be, perfect.

"So you nervous for the reaping, Ashy?" Martial said to me, flopping down on my sofa, propping his legs up. He gave me his perfect smile, the one that had once made my heart melt but now just made me fill with anger. Martial had been calling me "Ashy" ever since we had dated, and as much as I begged him to stop, he never did because he knew it got on my nerves.

I rolled my eyes, sitting down in a chair across from him. "Obviously I'm not _excited_ Martial," I said, pursing my lips. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

Martials mouth made a straight line. "Well, I still think you should volunteer sometime," He said smirking a little. "Not that I want to see you _die _or anything," he said chuckling a little, as if something like that was funny. "I just know that you could win Ashy. And life as a victor would be amazing, don't ya think?"

My hands turned into tight fists and I let out a loud sigh. Was he serious? Yes, he was. He was Martial Lockhearst. "I know I couldn't win, Martial," I said in a quiet voice, looking down.

Even though, if I thought about it, there was a _slight_ chance I could win. I was pretty smart. And pretty good with daggers. And I was stronger than most girls and even some boys, even though I didn't look like it.

Martial shrugged, smirking just a little. "Whatever, your name's gonna get drawn anyway," he said, snickering just slightly.

My head shot up, my eyebrows raising slightly. "What are you talking about?" I asked, my eyes staring hard at him.

Martial looked over at me, his thick eyebrows knitting together. "Because of what your mom did..." He said, in an "_obviously_" kind of way. His eyes stayed on mine, looking at me like I was crazy, like I didn't know something that everyone else knew.

My eyes narrowed and stayed glued to him. _Martial. __What did my mother do?_" I asked sternly, my lips in a tight line.

Martial bit down on his lip slighty, as he realized that I didn't know what he was talking about. His face flushed for a moment and he gulped. "Uhh...you don't know yet?" He asked, looking down, avoiding my gaze.

He looked up, noticing that I wasn't going to answer that question. He knew. He began again. "Right..uhm okay," he began, still not making eye contact with me. "Uhm...well..you're mother..she.." It was hard for him to say, I could tell, but I needed to know. He continued. "She entered your name some extra times in the reaping ball..like..a lot," he said quickly, finally meeting my eyes.

My stomach dropped for a moment and I felt nothing. Was I surprised? No. But I still felt nothing. I leaned back in the chair I was sitting in, staring hard at the wall on the other side of the room, my eyes blank. So many thoughts ran through my head. _She really hates me that much. She wants me gone. My own mother wants me to die. _My body was numb. I lost track of everything around me.

After a while, I think I heard Martial say my name a few times, his hand flashing in front of my face as if he was trying to wake me from this strange daze I was in. But it didn't work, so he said "Whatever. See you tonight." before walking out of my house, the door slamming behind him.

As for me, I sat in that chair for a while, just wondering..._why?_


	2. Ashen Haysmith continued

**Ashen Haysmith's POV**

I walked, or more like stomped, into the city center, where the hundreds of District One children began to gather for the reaping. Boys acted cocky, talking about the excitement they will get as they send spears into bodies, and giddy girls clapped and laughed as they talked about the Capitol, and how _fabulous_ it would be to get to spend a few days there. That's what made District One so much different than most of the other districts. In districts like ten, eleven, and twelve, sick, unhealthy children gathered sadly around the reaping stage while they waited for the horrible fate of one of their friends of family members. In One, every child wanted nothing more than to be picked. It made me sick.

I walked over to the check in station, where my finger was pricked for blood and my name was written down. After I was done, I made my way over to the sixteen-year-old section, scanning the crowd for my best friend, Percy Duncan.

I hadn't spoken to my mother since Martial gave me the news of what she had done. Sure, even if I _did_ get picked, someone would volunteer in my place. It _was_ District One we were talking about. But it still furiated me that my own mother wanted me gone that badly. It did not shock me, but it hurt me.

I smoothed down the white sparkley dress she had bought for me earlier that day. It looked expensive. Probably costed way more than we could afford. It was beautiful, too. But it was _too much._ This dress looked like something a Capitol celebrity would wear on the red carpet before a big event. Not something a district girl would wear before she was sent off to her death.

I spotted Percy, and I smiled slightly. Percy had been my best friend for four years. She had long, dark brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes with stunning olive skin. Much like Martial, many people wanted her.

"Hello, love," Percy said smiling, before giving me a big hug. "How are you?" She beamed at me with her straight teeth, pushing a lock of hair over her shoulder. I examined her for a moment. She was wearing a lovely platinum gold dress with matching heels, and she had long feather-like eyelashes glued to her eyes. At times, she was kind of like one of those weird Captiol people like my mother. I was not like that.

I sighed, shaking my head. "You'll never believe what my mom did, Percy. Well..actually, you will _believe_ it. But I just..Ugh!" I let out a loud moan, rolling my eyes.

Percy bit down on her lower lip. "Ehh, Ash, I already know. I kinda thought you did too.." She trails off, looking at the ground.

I sighed. _Of course she did. From how Martial put it, everyone knew except for me. _

"Yeah, well, whatever. Someone will volunteer anyways," I said, turning my attention to the stage when I noticed that the reaping was starting.

The District One escort, Dixie Ogilby, made her way across the stage to the microphone, her high, 6 inch heels clicking as she walked. She was a typical Capitol woman. Her hair a hot pink beehive, her eyelashes long, 8-inch blue feathers. She had a swirly green pattern tattooed onto her face, and her skin was a glowing silver. She's had been around a long time, she had to have been at least 60, but due to the famous Capitol reconstruction, Dixie still looked like a twenty year old girl.

She tapped the microphone slightly, letting out a buzz through the audience, and the crowd suddenly became still and silent with anticipation. I scanned the children around me, and almost everyone had a huge smile on their face, their eyes filled with eagerness and want. I rolled my eyes a little, turning back to Dixie.

"Hello District One!" She said in her high-pitched voice through the micophone, and chills shot through my body. She continued. "It's finally time! After a long year of waiting, The Hunger Games are back!"

The crowd of people exploded into a loud applause with a few whoops and hollers. Some high fived each other. Some jumped up and down with excitement. Others looked at their parents, who gave them a thumbs up. Percy squeezed my hand just slightly beside me.

After a long speech from Dixie, and a video clip about the Dark Days sent from the Capitol, followed by the playing of the anthem, the reaping began.

"Ladies first," Dixie said with a smile, like every other escort would on Reaping Day. She made her way over to the clear reaping ball, reached in her long silver fingers, and pulled out a tiny white piece of paper before walking back over to the microphone, opening it.

_It's gonna be me, obviously. _I thought. _Ashen Haysmith, come on down._

She smiled and took a deep breathe before announcing the name.

"_Natia Combe." _

Dixie grinned as she announced the name, scanning the crowd.

I let out a loud sigh of relief, shutting my eyes. _Not me. I made it through another year._

But suddenly my eyes opened. _Natia Combe. _I had heard that name before. It sounded very familiar. Very, very familiar. But I couldn't think of where I had heard it before.

Dixie continued to look around the crowd, her face a frown. "Natia, where are you dear? Don't be shy. Come on up."

It was odd to me that nobody had volunteered to take Natia Combe's spot. This was District One. What was going on? And where was Natia?

Suddenly a man in a suit, who I soon recognized as our mayor, Lartius Herriot, hurried over to Dixie, whispering something in her ear. At first Dixie nodded along to whatever he was saying, but soon her face turned to pure shock, and I swear, her already silver face turned just slightly whiter.

"Oh." She said in response to something he had said, though it radiated through the crowd due to her microphone. She gulped, still looked straight ahead for a moment after he walked away, before suddenly snapping out of it and smiling once again. She leaned over to the microphone, and began speaking again.

"Well, it appears that Natia Combe passed away. Her name hasn't been taken out of the reaping ball yet." Dixie let out a giggle. "My apologies. I will now pick another name." She clapped her tiny hands a few times as the crowd let out a few cheers and she began making her way back to the girl's reaping ball.

Natia Combe. That was it. She had passed away a few months before at the training center. Natia Combe was a petite girl with long black hair and black eyes, which was unusual for District One. But that girl was one of the most skilled people I had ever seen with a sword. It's not often you'd see a girl good with a sword. It was a male-dominant weapon. But Natia Combe proved that wrong. There was no doubt she would go far in the Hunger Games. She was intimidating. I had spoken to her a few times in my life, and just from those few small conversations I could tell that she was dark and mysterious. And ruthless. And sadistic.

Every once in a while, there would be accidents at the Career Center, like a minor cut or a fall from a high height due to climbing, but Natia Combe was the first _death_ I had ever heard of. She was carrying her sword when she tripped, stabbing herself in the stomach. And she wasn't able to be saved. It was a shame, really. She was a sadistic girl who would probably soon become a killer of many, but she was talented, and probably would have won the Games. And she was only fourteen.

"Ashen Haysmith."

My head shoots up. I had been in such a daze thinking about Natia Combe that I hadn't realized Dixie had pulled out another name and was now back at the microphone. My eyes widened and my stomach dropped. I looked over at Percy, who was staring at me, her lips slightly parted and pure fear in her eyes.

"Where are you Ashen?" Dixie asked, sounding slightly annoyed at this point.

I had to go up there. Nobody was volunteering for some reason. Percy squeezed my hand tightly, a way of telling me that I needed to go.

My legs felt like feathers as I walked up to the stage and faced Dixie. She beamed at me, pulling me over to the center of the stage.

"Hello Ashen. How old are you dear?" She asked, pushing the microphone towards me.

I gulped. "Uh..sixteen." I said. My eyes were wide with confusion. Why weren't there volunteers? There were _always_ volunteers.

I stood there for a few moments, staring at the audience, almost in a way as to beg someone to step up, but no one did. I was going into the arena.

Before I knew it, Dixie had pulled a boy's name.

"Gunnar Lapworthe."

But Gunnar Lapworthe, whoever that was, didn't have a chance to even react, because a boy had volunteered. He made his way to the stage quickly, smiling. I observed him. He had light brown hair and a nice smile. He was muscular, but not very tall. Taller than me, of course, being I was only 5 foot 3. But not monsterous like some of the boys you see in the games every year. He was attractive.

There was something weird about this boy's smile. It was..nice. Not arrogant, or conceited, or intimidating. It wasn't a smirk. But a nice smile. Not even exciting, really. Just like he was truly happy to be there.

Dixie grinned at him. "What is your name?" She asked, pushing the microphone to him like she did to me.

The boy smiled once again. "Wade Galloway," he said, still beaming.

Dixie motioned for us to shake hands, and we did. He looked into my eyes, giving me that same genuine smile he had given the crowd, and it didn't look fake at all. Which was weird.

"Ladies and gentleman, you're District One tributes for the 78th Annual Hunger Games!"

The crowd whooped and hollered and Wade waved and smiled at the crowd before we were both hauled away into the Justice Building.


	3. Gunnar Hayes

** Gunnar Hayes' POV**

I took a seat at the marble table that sat off to the left in the train, looking at the people who were already there once I sat. There was my mentor, Haymitch Abernathy. He was wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt that had a few very visible stains on it. His gray hair looked like it hadn't been combed in months, which it probably hadn't. And the bags under his eyes seemed bigger than they were the day before, like he didn't get an ounce of sleep that previous night.

This was his first time he was back mentoring since the last quarter quell. He had had a hard time getting over the deaths of his two favorite tributes. For once, Haymitch got to mentor a pair that had hope. And when they won the 74th games, he finally had felt like he had a purpose. Like he was a good mentor. But when they both died in the quell the next year, the depression came back to him, and the recovering alcoholic had a total relapse.

Also at the table was Effie Trinket, my escort. She looked goofy, as always. Her hair was a hot pink, her skin a ghostly, unnatural white, which her makeup looked terrible with. Her nails were an unecessary length. But she thought it looked good, I assumed. Just like all Capitol people do.

Sitting on the other side of the table, opposite of me, was my district partner, Blye Carson. Blye had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, and olive skin. Basically the same traits as me, except my skin was lighter.

Blye Carson was from one of the most poor parts of District 12, the Seam. I didn't know much about Blye, but I figured that she didn't eat much. She was very thin and slightly unhealthy looking, and by the way that she tore into the large meal that was set in front of her when we both got on the train for the first time the previous night, it was obvious that she had never gotten so much food to herself before.

Blye seemed like an okay girl. She was quiet and kept to herself. Definitely not the kind of person that I would want to go after in the arena. Well, I didn't want to go after _anyone_ in the arena, but especially not people like her.

At first I wondered if maybe it was an act. Maybe she was pulling a "Johanna Mason" and acting weak and helpless, only to be a ruthless killing machine once she got into the arena. But then I realized, no. It couldn't be. We were from District 12. How could this little girl be a killer? She didn't even look strong enough to hold one of those heavy weapons, let alone kill someone with one. Besides, where would she get her training? She was from District 12. _The Seam. _It was just a stupid thought by me.

Effie smiled a creepy "Capitol smile" at me as I began to eat. "Good morning, Gunnar," she said to me, her eyes slightly crazy-looking. She folded her hands together gently on the marble table. "Are you ready for the Tribute parade tonight?"

I gave her a slight smile and nodded a little. "Yeah, I guess so," I said, shoving a big spoonful of some unknown, delicious food into my mouth. I had no idea what any of the food was, really. It all looked very odd and unnatural, but it was delicious.

Effie clapped her hands together just slightly, beaming. "Oh, you are going to _love _the Capitol, you two," she said to both me and Blye. "Everything here is just so..._marvelous." _She placed her white hand over her heart and shook her head as she thought about the Capitol. I smiled slightly at her remark, but Blye just kept her stare on her almost-empty plate, pushing the remaining food around slightly with a fork.

I looked over at Haymitch, who hadn't bothered to join in on our little conversation. Instead, he had a full bottle of some kind of alchoholic beverage tipped back as he chugged it down.

Effie noticed this right away, and she rolled her eyes with disgust. She flicked her hand in a dismissive way in his direction before turning back to me.

"Gunnar, your stylist will be Octavia," she said to me only, obviously not bothering to even speak to Blye anymore, since she didn't seem to want to talk. She smiled. "Octavia was once just a member of the District 12 prep team, but took over as head stylist once Cinna...disappeared." She said the last word just a little uncomfortably.

_Cinna. _Of course. Everyone knew who Cinna was. He had been a District 12 stylist for years. He was most famous for his styling for the 74th and 75th Games, when the whole Capitol vs. 74th victors controversy thing was going on. Before the 75th quell started, though, he was killed by the peacekeepers. After that, his designs began to spread through the Capitol. He was known as a legend after his death.

I looked out the window of the incredibly fast-moving train. I let out a deep breath as I thought about how much my sister, Pollen, would have loved to see the Capitol with me. She was always talking about how she wanted to grow up and live in the Capitol one day, regardless of how many times we would tell her that Capitol people were bad, and she did _not_ want to be one of them.

Pollen Hayes was my thirteen year old sister. She was one of the smartest people you would ever meet. She loved learning about the different districts of Panem, determined to travel to each and every one of them someday. She could tell you literally anything about each of them. Their population, their average family income, their previous Hunger Games victors. She knew it all. It was very impressive for a thirteen year old girl.

My father's name was Marc and my mother's name was Marnie. My parents had owned a small resteraunt in District 12, one of the only resteraunts. Honestly, having a resteraunt in such a poor district was very unusual, so the only people who would ever really be in wealthier ones. The small bunch that could afford a hot meal.

I looked over at Blye. By then, she was beginning her third plate of food. _Her family definitely would not be able to afford our resteraunt, _I told myself with a sigh.

Our resteraunt did earn some money for us. The food was slightly expensive, so our parents had a good chunk of money to keep for themselves every week. It kept food on our table, and Pollen and I never went hungry, unlike many District 12 people.

It hurt to think about my family, knowing that I would probably never see them again. I didn't think there was much of a chance for me to win. Sure, I was a little stronger than most people. And I was decent with knives. But I knew that I could never outlast a Career tribute, even being smarter than most like I was.

I felt the train suddenly begin to slow down. I realized that we must be in the Capitol. My heart began to race as I stood up and ran for the train window. Sure enough, we were there.

My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. I had never seen anything like it. I had seen the Capitol on the television and in pictures, but this was far more breath-taking.

enormous skyscrapers lined the marble roads. Unusual automobiles sped around the city. And thousands of the odd-looking Capitol people flooded the streets, and it took me a moment to realize that they were waiting for me.

I turned around to Blye, who remained still and silent at the table, her face expressionless. I felt sorry for her. Of course, I was going through the same situation now, but for some reason, I felt guilty. Like I shouldn't be standing up, excited to see this amazing city. Like I should be there, with her, sitting at the table motionless. We were in this city, not for a vacation, but to die. That wasn't something I should have been excited for.

I sighed and turned to walk back to the table to join Blye, but I was interrupted by the train coming to a complete stop. I turned back to the window and looked out. The train was now parked, and Capitol citizens stood just inches away from the train, screaming and shouting. I couldn't help but smile. They were cheering.._for_ me. I had never been cheered for like that. It was an incredible feeling. I turned around to the others with a huge grin, which I imagine looked goody, still plastered on my face.

Effie was beaming at me, her purple lips stretched almost from one side of her face to the other. She clapped her white hands and motioned for me to turn back to the window and enjoy it.

Even Haymitch was smiling at me ever so slightly, the first bit of emotion I had seen from him at all since I got on this train. I continued to grin.

But when I looked at Blye, my smile began to fade. She was staring at me, her dark eyes frozen to mine. This was the first time, I think, she had made eye contact with me, or anyone for that matter, yet. Her lips were curled down, in a slight frown. And her eyes were what took me back. Through them, I saw a killer. Someone who wanted nothing more than to murder me.


End file.
